


We Can Talk Later

by Prim_the_Amazing



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Bulges and Nooks, Dane Cook - Freeform, M/M, Meteorstuck, POV Dave Strider, Sexual Content, Trans Character, Trans Dave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 11:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4220496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/pseuds/Prim_the_Amazing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave and Karkat build a pillow fort. It leads to a lot more than just romcoms and cuddling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Can Talk Later

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CrossroadsDemon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrossroadsDemon/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy my fill :)

Architecture is hard. It’s hard and no one understands. Including Karkat, who is just as befuddled as you are about how you’re going to support this one corner pillar of your pillow fort. You have a sudden flash of brilliance. You practically launch yourself over Karkat’s lap to get a blanket, roll back over to the pillar, and then you wrap the thick thing around the base of the stupid pillow pillar (wow, that was super fun to think; ‘pillow pillar’!).

The fucking thing stabilizes. You are a genius.

“I am a genius,” you say, because the world must know.

“You’re an idiot,” Karkat says, just to be contrarian, you bet.

Dane Cook’s disgustingly familiar mug flashes across the television screen, and Karkat turns to watch. You end up getting an eyeful of his floppy, puppy alien ear. You wonder if it’d be soft to touch it.

Instead of actually doing that like a total maniac, you decide to ramble. “Karkat, don’t oppress me. For all you know I’m the next Einstein of pillow fort architecture, but the world shall never know because you keep putting me down. Don’t deprive the generations to come of what I have to offer.”

“Which fucking world would that be, Dave?” He doesn’t even turn around to look at you as he speaks, the rude bastard (you super want him to look at you).

“Uh. LOHAC?”

“Well I’d sure hate it if a bunch of retarded, screwed up lava crocodiles didn’t get the best of pillow fort technology you have to offer,” Karkat says flatly.

“I’m glad we see eye to eye on this.” You nod firmly. The motion catches the corner of Karkat’s eye, and he turns absently to look at you. Yesss—

The pillow fort collapses on the two of you, leaving you to your dark, soft, smothered doom.

Karkat braces himself up on his arms that are coincidentally on either side of your head, and he glares down at you, faint light filtering through gaps in the pillows and blankets surrounding you.

“Genius my ass.”

You open your mouth to shoot off a no doubt snappy repartee, but all that come out is this horribly embarrassing strangled choking sound. Karkat is… wow. This position is—ironic as fuck! Fucking fuck, this kind of shit only happens in shitty animes or whatever, oh no.

On the plus side, at least neither of you can see Dane Cook’s terrible face now.

Karkat’s latent social skills finally seem to catch up to the situation at hand, and his face proceeds to no doubt mirror your bright red hue. He snatches his hands away from where they are, framing your face in a really, er, misleading way, which is good (it is good), except he then topples down on top of you. He really did not think that one through.

His face is now pressed up against your neck and you’re both stiff as boards.

“… This is some serious romcom shit right here,” you attempt to lighten the mood, and it works for all of two seconds before Karkat snorts softly into your neck and nope, you were wrong when you thought what you had before was awkward, this is the pinnacle of awkward, tales of this terrible moment will be told in hushed whispers around the campfire for ages to come, oh god, it was slightly damp and warm—

You belatedly realize that you’ve only made the situation worse by clinging to Karkat with your arms in response to the snort, like he’s your life preserver in the middle of a stormy ocean, when in fact he is the storm, and you are the shittiest at metaphors. It’s you.

“I’ll, let’s just, uh, untangle. Yeah,” you manage to stutter out.

“Right,” he replies.

Neither of you makes a move.

“Now,” you say, and your voice definitely doesn’t waver.

“Right!”

You loosen your hold on him. He slides up. Your crotches makes contact. The world ends for, like, the fifth time. You make a keening noise and die a little inside. Karkat’s body stutters to a stop, which temporarily makes more friction. You bite your tongue, determined not to embarrass yourself to death, not today, not like this, and in the silence you can hear Karkat’s slightly-louder-than-normal breathing (you realize you’re holding your breath and force yourself to breathe). 

That should’ve been when the whole terrible ordeal finally ended and the two of you proceeded to avoid eye contact for several days until you could look at each other’s faces without remembering this moment. Except Karkat got a strange look on his face that you can’t read, and then, of all things, he grinds down back onto your crotch. 

Your back arches. You moan, long and low and filthy. That’s it, that’s the end, you give up the ghost of denial; it’s time to fuck the brains out of this alien.

You kiss him. Hey, he crotch grinded you—you’re guessing he won’t recoil in disgust here. He tastes nice, he’s warm, and—he freezes. Oh shit. Is he actually going to recoil in disgust here? Where did you go wrong?? Well, the answer to that is obvious, but goddamn it still. You stop kissing him, get ready to start blathering a mile a minute to try and salvage this because goddamn it you need him to still be your friend, but then he closes the distance and kisses you back. It’s your turn to freeze in shock.

Eventually, you melt into it, relaxing and sinking into the soft avalanche that surrounds you, arms around his shoulders, face aflame. His black lips are soft and warm like they were on your neck earlier. You run your hands through his hair, thicker and coarser than human hair should be, bump into his nubby little horns and give them a little rub with your thumb for the heck of it. He literally purrs like a cat at that, and fuck yes, you are all about that.

You cautiously lick at his lips, asking for permission, and he opens his mouth. You are hyperaware of his sharp fangs, but you’re enough of a lovesick idiot to still worm your delicate tongue in there. Why hello there, Karkat’s tongue, let’s be tangle buddies. (What most people don’t seem to realize is that you can be a victim of your lack of filter as well. Dear god, why.) 

You realize you’d closed your eyes once they spring open when you feel one clawed hand edge up underneath your shirt. Fuck!

“Mmph, Karkat, hang on—“

“Fuck, I’m sorry—“ 

You decide to interrupt him before he really gets the self-hate steam going. “No, it’s cool, so fucking cool you have no idea, just, uh, lay off the clothes?”

God fucking damn it, you do want him to rip off your clothes. It’s basically all you’ve wanted for months now. You want him to rip of your god pajamas and cape, and you want to guide his hands around your member and let his head nestle against your bare, flat chest.

Except, you remind yourself yet again with a familiar pang of bitterness, you can’t do any of that. Because you don’t have a member, and your chest can’t be bare and flat at the same time. You don’t want to strip in front of him only to see the moment he starts thinking of you differently. You won’t just be Dave the Guy anymore. You’ll be… you don’t want to think about this, it’s doing more than turning you off. 

Instead, you lean up into another kiss with him. 

“Right, yeah, that’s cool,” Karkat says, and more reassurances like it, in the breaks you both take to breathe. By the way he grinds down on your crotch with extra desperate pressure you’re guessing that he’s not actually one hundred percent cool with it, but that’s Karkat. He’s not the kind of douche bag that’d make you do anything you didn’t want to in bed, push you too fast and make you uncomfortable just for his own sake. A wash of warmth for him overtakes you and you meet his motion, grinding right back. 

“It’s flatter than I expected,” he pants hotly, distractedly into your ear, and your blood freezes. “What with all of your talking and drawings of phalluses. Is it sheathed too?” 

You can’t honestly think that you’re going to be more than platonic bros with Karkat and not tell him about this, right? That’d be… not good, even if your anatomies are so different that you possibly could get away with it. 

“I’ll tell you later,” you say, simultaneously trapping yourself into having to tell him now that he knows that there actually is something to tell, yet also being a coward and putting it off by refusing to just tell him now. Whatever. You can let yourself be just a bit of a coward, seeing as you’ve decided on actually telling him anyways, eventually. 

(Rationalizations aside, you still can’t help feeling a little bit ashamed and cowardly.)

“Hey,” you say perhaps a bit too loudly, trying to get that suspicious look of his face, and these stupid fucking thoughts out of your head. “So, sheathed dick, huh? Mind unsheathing it?”

He blushes, and then groans with dismay at your suggestively wiggling eyebrows. 

One abbreviated, flushed explanation of alien anatomy later, and your hand is down his sweat pants, rubbing on the rough surface of his bulge plate as he chirps into your ear like the sexiest bug alive. When the shy little bastard finally pokes its way out you let it coil around your fingers, slick and prehensile, and his reaction is ridiculous, flattering, and sexy as all get out. 

He gives you hickeys, and it’s kind of really thrilling the way his sharp fangs press against your fluttering pulse, not penetrating skin, so careful with the pressure his hot tongue lapping at you, mouth sucking. 

His nook (apparently both females and male have the same equipment, do they get to choose their gender or something? If so that would be awesome as hell) is soft and pliant and weeping translucent red and you are into it. You can tell from his feverish kisses and nips and wandering hands that he desperately wants to return the favor, both out of arousal and guilty obligation, affection. And. You will let him. Later. 

But just this one time, you’re going to let this be simple. 

He comes as you’re knuckle deep inside him, long and ecstatic, bulge squeezing your wrist fit to bruise. You love the noises he makes. 

“I love you,” you mutter breathlessly, thoughtlessly, like always and—

“Flushed for you too,” he mumbles back, collapsing onto your chest. You know what that means in nonsense alien speak.

You dread the coming conversation a little less.

**Author's Note:**

> [And here's my tumblr, shoot me an ask with a homestuck ship and a prompt!](http://primtheamazing.tumblr.com/)


End file.
